Tales of Ebullience
by whatdotheydream
Summary: A series of tales, all connected to one wood, and its people.
1. Once Upon A Time

Tales of Ebullience

In a far and distant land, and a still more distant time, there lived the Woods of Ebullience, where many strange and wonderful things happened. I say lived because- well, _grew _just doesn't describe these woods, magical and ancient as they were. Tales grew around this wood- many, many tales, passed down as heritage by the Children of Ebullience. I am the last, the last of the ancient Children, and my job, my _purpose_, if you will, is to tell these tales, spread them to the world, before they wither from my mind. _Once Upon A Time…._


	2. The Pear Child

Pear Child

A/N: My mom used to tell this story to me…. Except this is my version.

Edna was tired. Tired, tired, tired of having nothing to do, no one to talk to, to take care of… Her youngest brother, Tom, had died of yellow fever. He was the last to pass, the last she had. She mourned bitterly for him, and that resolved her decision to have a child- not a husband, they were just nuisances- but a child, she needed.

The old pear tree lived (_lived_) by her cottage step- always had, ever since her Greatest-of-Greats-Grandmother had migrated from the woods, deciding to take on life in the little hollow besides them. A tale was told of it-it was said, by all near and far, that it granted a wish, every century, granted a wish that held a heart in it.

Whether it had any truth in it or not, not a year had passed, when Edna was woken by a shrill cry, a wail that split the night, carrying in it all the fear and anger of a deserted being.

Edna's view: I rushed into the still-cold night- a month into spring, yet the bone chilling frost persisted- a strange feeling of anxiety and expectance bursting through my blood. The moonlight cast an aloof slip of light over the tiny meadow that served as my lands, illuminating a small child, standing 'neath Greatest's pear tree, silent tear-tracks frozen on her cheeks. As her large, green, eyes turned to my face, I knew she was mine. "Come here, love, come here." I whispered, breaking an awaiting silence. And my arms reached out to her.

Edna named the child "Myra" meaning "long-awaited", and the years passed, quickly, far too- much so, and soon Myra was fifteen, a beautiful young woman. Men would want her, Edna knew, and Myra would leave. Oh, she would _visit_, she would, but she wouldn't be _Edna's_ anymore.

She had golden-tinted skin; raspberry lips. Golden-brown hair-it fell, it _cascaded, _down her back. Her eyes were green, filled with warmth- and love, love for _him_. As was her heart. She was gentle, sweet- timid even; but she was strong. She was kind. He was pale-deathly pale. His black hair-black as night- made that quite obvious. His eyes were, brown, filled with emotion. He was strong, despite his recent illness. He was friendly, and loyal. He had a good heart, a kind heart. He was a good worker- and he loved her, dearly. She looked like a fairy, as she swept up the aisle. He was her 'prince'. They would take care of each other.

They moved to the woods. They built a house- of stones, not trees. She couldn't bear to kill a plant. "They'll miss life." She said fiercely. "Like I would. Like you would." And that ended that.

There was an old pear tree. She used to climb it. Even when she got to old, she would stare at it, drink it in. " I think…I think pear trees are important to me…very important…as if…if…" and she would trail off vaguely, leaving a puzzled listener behind.

Their children were a mix of both of them. A pleasant, beautiful mix. They all loved pears; they worked hard. They loved deeply, purely. They lived, in Ebullience. As we have since Time.

The End


	3. Rose That Unfolds Slowly

Rose That Unfolds Slowly

In the beginning she was a seed- then a vine, and a bud

She still grows

Later, she will be as a rose, unfolding its petals

Slowly, one by one

Afraid of the sun.

She reaches out timidly, creeping, creeping, along.

Terrified of the End:

When she'll have to fall, leaving behind

A tired life

She's begun to open now;

Each petal a different color- a different memory

Deepest Scarlet Red

Palest Pink of Dawn

A White of Blushing Hues

Yellow Summer Hazes

Blue Mist on the Mountains

Firelight Orange

Grandmother's Lavender

The Rose That Unfolds Slowly: Takes in Many Things


	4. Qi lor vochter aszhen

There was once a little girl who lived in the forest, and nobody knew who she was-maybe she didn't either. She appeared one day, and she watched from the woods, a silver little shadow that danced among silver trees, and singing a silver song, lost on the edge of memory, that filled the forest with sorrow. Because also in this forest lived a little boy. A golden little boy, with golden little curls, and a golden smile with golden dimples, and the forest loved him. The forest loved Silver too, but when she sang, it was the saddest music, and the little boy cried, because on the edge of her voice was the memory of loneliness and abandonment. Golden knew that song too, and hid it in the corner of his heart, and sometimes hummed it as he walked along.

_Izben zach lok nor des _

_ Lost on the black shore_

_ En signa debuara denou_

_ The white swan sings_

_ Izben zach lok nor des_

_ Lost on the black shore_

_ Sen vel don fla,_

_ She tries to fly,_

_ Zoch lec viersa lor br'dak._

_ But her wings are broken._

_ Zij seivvil dokkur fla, _

_ A shadow cannot fly,_

_ Eb aqior zach lok deruja._

_ It crawls on the ground. _

For they were indeed shadows. Of what, it is uncertain, but some have guessed a memory long forgotten, abandoned for brighter days. Indeed, the forest sang: _Seivvils nand anso izben (shadows you have lost) Vihesch vochter aszhen, vin aszhen. (When found again, be again.)_

One day, Golden woke up, and the silver voice was gone. Silver was lonely- she didn't know Golden, he didn't know her, they lived alone, lost in the forest, with nobody to find them, nobody to care, except for the equally lost forest. Though Golden cried when he heard her voice, it had been a melancholy sort of companion, and he missed it. He decided to search for the voice, to make it sing again, because without it, he was ever so lonely.

He walked, humming. _ Izben zach lok nor des._

The forest sang. _Vihesch vochter aszhen, vin aszhen._

She lay on the ground. _Zij seivvil dokkur fla,_ _eb aqior zach lok deruja. _

He saw the girl sleeping.

A tear coursed down her cheek.

He ran to her.

All the forest whispered in anticipation.

He reached out his hand.

She opened her eyes.

He smiled.

She laughed.

_Qi lor vochter aszhen._

_We are found again._


	5. Old Woman That Weaves

Codes: _Italics=grandmother, normal. _**Bold=grandmother telling a tale. **Underlined=one of the children. Pick which one! (There's two.)  Normal=me, the author! But I there's none of that….*shrug*

_Hush, little ones, for I have a tale to tell. _A tale! Oh, goody! What is it about?_ An old woman._ Like you!_ Oh, little one. Yes, of course. Like me._ Tell us! Tell us!_ Well then, hush! _Yes, Grandmother.** There is an old woman who is friends with the stars. She sits on the edge of the moon, and weaves. Clutter, clutter, goes her shuttle. And she weaves, from the very beginning, she has. First, in the eternal darkness, she wove the sun and moon. Then the stars. Now she weaves shadows, shadows and tales. She captures laughter, and she weaves memories and butterflies, too. And also…** What else? What else does she do?**When she cries, it rains.**Why does she cry?_ Because this is a dark place._ But we're sitting by a fire! _The fire will go out when we sleep. And, little ones, because of light, shadows exist. _I thought she wove shadows? _She does._ Then why does she cry?_ Because…Let me tell you another story._** In the dark, there existed a beast. No. it was the dark. And it hated everything. Until…**Until?** It met a young woman who was always laughing, and it loved her. But she hated it, and she wove the sun and moon, and then the stars. She made the light. The dark was angry, and so it chained her to the moon, where she weaves shadows, tales and butterflies and memories too. And so she weeps because she was foolish, and because she wouldn't be wise if she was given a second chance. But, did you know? She smiles too, and that is why the sun shines.** Grandmother? _Yes, little one._ Will she ever stop weaving?_ No, little one, she would not, even if the dark let her._ Why?_ Because she has forgotten how to do anything else. _That's sad. _Maybe, little one. Maybe._ Grandmother, tell us another story. Yes, Grandmother, another one!_ Well…Once upon a time, there was…_**A calico cat with beady button-eyes, and it sat on a shelf and watched the world go by. Until one day, when…**


End file.
